Take My Hand
by Lrigelbbub
Summary: [TyKa] rated for connotations. Its an anniversary but of what kind? Not exactly what you'd think. [last two paragraphs are my AN]


DISCLAIMER: I don't own it.

This is for the OTKH first birthday celebration. I hope that all of you here at OTKH like this. It is really short but hopefully sweet and not angsty (I don't think I can do angsty but you never know). I wasn't originally going to write one because of my exams but then I thought that would be rather scandalous…wow I've been here since the 1st of Dec….

N.B: This is not for the contest because it doesn't meet the criteria but I wanted to post it anyways. If it wasn't for the 'challenge' I would never have thought of the ficlet.

Dedication: To all who have believed in me and encouraged me to keep writing.

TAKE MY HAND

I didn't want it, you know?

I didn't want it. Not the pity or the sympathy. Nor the sidelong glances that he sent my way when he thought I wasn't watching.

I was always watching.

It was disturbing to be surrounded by youths constantly when you had grown up isolated. I had to get used to the noise and the invasions of privacy. It was like privacy just didn't exist to these people. But at least some of them got the meaning of 'me time'.

All but one that is.

It was like he never wanted to let me out of his sight. It was crazy and a little freaky actually. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to make of it and I certainly had no idea of what to say to him. So instead of carefully assessing everything I was about to say in my head like I generally do whenever I am around him I find myself blurting things out.

It really is a bad habit to get into.

I tried to hold me tongue but the words flowed unbidden from my lips. The insults, the criticisms, the everything, all of it just came out. He irritated me and I allowed it to show. For the first time in my relatively short life I was showing emotion. Not that I didn't get angry before. But it was a different kind of anger.

When I was younger, my angry, my rage was cold. I could control it and manipulate it to my advantage. But ever since I have met him my rage is red hot and my temper fiery. He is a bad influence I think in that aspect.

Yet, despite all his flaws that are as clear as day to me he has so many characteristics, so many redeeming qualities I guess you could say. He was faithful to his ideals, loyal to his friends and forgiving to a fault.

So I guess he wasn't all bad.

I struggled to come to terms with the way he made me feel inside. I pushed him away again and again. The first ever time was in Russia. Not only did I betray the team but when I looked in his eyes I knew that he had taken it personally. I had betrayed him and for some reason that made my stomach complete a flip flop. It was most unnatural for me to feel this…..guilt – that is the only word I can find to accurately describe what was plaguing me.

Despite this though, I did not return to him; to the others. My pride, I am now ashamed to say, kept me from that. Funny thing pride, it is the only thing that is truly controlled by your own person and yet it betrays you so often and plays you for a fool. It got the best of me but I couldn't refute it. I couldn't go back.

What would I have said?

I just couldn't do it. And it hurt to know that the only person stopping me was me. It was beyond stupid but I felt powerless to stop it. I hate that feeling; the feeling of powerlessness. The feeling you get when you are destitute, desperate……needy.

I needed his forgiveness at that moment but I felt that I had no claim to it. I had no right to ask. If it were offered I would take it and take it gladly. But to ask – that would mean showing that side of me; the side that my pride keeps hidden from the world, the side that cowers beneath my mask of silence.

I realise that that is what I was doing all these It really doesn't do much to one's self-esteem.

But showing that side, a side that I can honestly say I am not in the least bit proud of was worth it. I look into his eyes right now and I know that it was so beyond worth it.

He offers me his hand and I take it. He leads me down the hall and into our bedroom. I hear him close the door behind us. He leads me to our bed and he drops his grasp on my hand. I watch as he lowers him self to sit on edge of the bed. I watch in amazement as he propels himself backwards so he is resting against the headboard. He raises his hand to me.

He offers me his friendship.

He offers me his love.

He gives to me himself.

And I gladly take it, just as I have before, just as I always will for as long as he is willing. I know I will always reach out and take his hand. It started years ago, on the ice in Russia; a helping hand for a friend in need; a forgiving hand. Years ago….on this very day, I shall never forget it. I guess it is an anniversary of sorts, definitely something worth remembering. He saved me – from myself.

And somehow I think he will always offer me his hand.

In friendship.

Or something more.

I realise that he is OoC but you can't have everything in black and white…..too many shades of grey in the world. I've put a spin on a 2D character…I hope he turns out all right.

Well there you go, the shortest OneShot I have ever written, I think. I hope it's alright and I pray that it is cohesive. Okay…well I have distracted myself from my studies for long enough…so back to Global Marketing I go – such joy!

Be Safe

-BG


End file.
